I'm Grieving, I'm Barely Believing Now
by Wolf On The Rocks
Summary: 'It's the 53rd Hunger Games, I'm 16 years old and my mentor has already given up on me but apparently that doesn't mean everyone has. That much is clear from the box that's just landed at my feet with medicine inside. The note, it's a message through music and I realise there's only one person who could have sent me this.' (Set across multiple years. HaymitchxOC) Rating may rise!
1. Chapter 1

_**Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games or the characters which are featured in the books. I have simply chosen to play in this world for a little while and all credit must go to Susanne Collins for creating such a marvellous world for one to play in. Any original characters I have created are of my own design however and I will take full credit for those and for any headcanons that arise from this.**_

_**A/N: This fic begins, really begins in the 53rd Hunger Games and my character Apollonia is going to be the Victor for said Games. The fic will contain a few pairings with the OC, most prominently HaymitchxNia. The fic is a cross between movie and book verse. I've just started reading Mockingjay but have made my way around the Wiki's so I do know what happens. **_

_**I actually find writing in first person quite difficult so I'm experimenting a little here and I may have to switch it up at a later date if I don't feel it's working but for now I quite like it.**_

_**I do hope you enjoy and if you enjoy please review! **_

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_''And this is Apollonia Heavensbee his wife.'' Effie introduces the woman with a wave of her hand. Unlike the adoring crowds of the capitol this woman's eyes aren't trained on me and that immediately makes me intrigued. Makes me take a second look at her, a real look at her and that's when I realise I remember her. She won the games without killing a soul, barely even having a hand in any of the other tributes deaths. She's a victor known for slinking off for days or locking herself away and writing music. Haymitch had told me about her, Cinna too when they were instructing me about activities to perfect after the victory tour, something to show off and talk about. The woman before me writes poetry and music that is favoured in the capitol; the only reason she was allowed to marry Heavensbee. She was the Capitol's darling long before I ever was and in some small way I'm happy she's married to someone from the Capitol because at least it means she can't be passed around like a piece of meat now that I'm becoming the favourite._

_There's a pained look in her eyes that I recognise, well I recognise the feeling that appears to be flitting across them, longing. She's looking past me and at something behind me. I assume it's another victor who's with Haymitch because Haymitch I can hear and I doubt anyone would look at him like that now, he's too drunk and too old._

_She's not dressed like me, not as over the top as the other Capitol guests or even myself, if anything she seems, feels, overly toned down and subdued. Her dress matches Heavensbee's suit in colour; purple with little jewels that reflect the light and make it almost seem like she's charged._

_She was a District 5 victor and I suppose her outfit is a little reminder that she doesn't have an ounce of Capitol blood inside her. Her district produces power, not that she's probably seen it in a good long while. She seems to be lost in thought, apparently a trademark of hers but she's pulled from it to give me a soft smile and is that a sympathetic look? I don't turn to see what she was staring at because Heavaensbee takes her hand offering a dance._

_It's the first time I see Apollonia but something inside me says it won't be the last._

_**53**__**rd**__** Hunger Games. Train to the Capitol From District 5**_

I never wanted to be picked, then again who does? No one. Well, maybe in the Career districts where it's practically bred into them that The Games are something to be proud of.

There were mutters, sighs and shrugs when my name was called, when I had to step forward and claim my role as tribute. They'd given up on me already the crowd. No one stepped forward though, through all their grumbling no one volunteered. In a way it's good it's me and not someone else, I don't really have anyone who cares about me in 5, not really, no family to speak of anyway.

District 5 is poor, rough and people have to fight for survival everyday. I was fortunate enough to work, well live somewhere money and coin come somewhat easily. Baeda's is a whore house, oh no I'm nothing of the sort, not through lack of trying. Men don't want me. They'd rather the prettier, thinner girls with a more expert touch. They'd rather the unmarked girls.

When I was two years old there was an accident. I lost my mother then three weeks later my father passed on from a broken heart. Baeda found me in the house and took me in like she does with a lot of the girls in our district. Oh it's not really some motherly ideal, Baeda never had children of her own but that's not the reason, far from it. Baeda takes the girls who could be worth something, the girls who could repay her kindness of food and shelter by bringing the custom of exchanging bodies for money into the house. Not all mind, the younger one's she feeds and usually helps rehome. It always intrigues me how even the poorest of the families in our district will take on an extra mouth. The community all looks after each other, or tries too. Even in the town, where the people with money and all the food they need live stay, they still act part of the community. All food scraps and left overs are given to the poor so they have something to share, to live off.

I wasn't an unpretty child and I could always turn a tune that would see a shiny coin pressed into my hand. This is where my use comes in. I'd never, ever be on Flora's level. Men crave her company, Peacekeepers in need of relief will pay double what they would another for her company, for her skilled hands to steal the aches from their bodies. After her there's Liesal, Liesal despite being in her late twenties looks like she's in her late teens. She looks young and judging from the stories I've heard this is somewhat of a delicacy in the sexual world. I've heard she gets the rougher end of the deal.

I sit comfortably caught somewhere between looking too old and too young and I'm glad a lot of the time that men turn their noses away from me. I'm sixteen and I look it but this fact alone should make me a delicacy, like Liesal, it doesn't though. What stops the men from paying for my company is the scars.

A lot of people in our district have scars, it's not uncommon and it's pretty much everyday. No one but the Peacekeepers are ever surprised or startled by them. We barely even react or acknowledge when we see another with them but if they are paying for the privilege of a girl they don't want one marked in such an obvious way. What can a girl do when men don't want to pay and said girl lives and works in a whorehouse? Well I entertain, I sing and give out drinks as the men wait in the lounge. I say the lounge; they wait either close to the house or on the square patch of sand outside.

I think about that life, the life I'm leaving behind and I rub my neck a little consciously, rub the scar and let my fingers trace it's bumps and dips. The smoothness of the skin there. Apparently now this is a symbol of my survival and might help with sponsors. So far my mentor has put my disinterest in the games and my outfit down to shock. I'm not interested in the food before me, well, there's a delicious looking pot of something that's apparently chocolate. I want to taste it but I feel it might be a trick of some sort. I reach out for it a few times and stop.

''You can eat anything you like you know?'' The stylist says brushing her fingers across her lips and just staring at me for a moment.

''Better dig in Apollonia, this is the last time, the only time you're going to get to feast on anything this good.'' This is my mentor. She's already given up on me of that much I'm sure. I can tell from the way she's certain that I'm not going to come back from the games.

''Yeah eat up.'' My competitor, the boy from my district has stuffed his face so full his cheeks have puffed out and it looks like one false move could see him choke. I wonder what they would do if he choked? Would they revive him? Bring him back to life just to see him die in the arena? Would they find another tribute to take his place?

His name is Ray, he's stocky and well built. Muscles are more on his legs than his arms but I can see it will at least aid him in running. It's his bone structure that give the impression he's bigger than he is more than any fat or muscle. I've seen him at school but I've never spoken to him, he's two years older than me at 18. Ray swallows, doesn't choke but the sight of the huge lump of food heading down his throat makes me feel a little sick.

Ray more than makes up for my lack of enthusiasm about everything. He wants to go into the games, wants a chance to exert some rage and has already asked about the best way to kill someone at least twice. He's enjoying the food too, enthusiastically shoving it down his face.

Tentatively I take a small piece of what looks like white foam in a thick cylinder, it's springy between my fingers and I stick it onto the edge of my fork before dipping it into the thick brown shiny liquid that's apparently chocolate. I've only ever seen chocolate twice and the first I don't entirely remember. I was five years old and a guy from the town gave me a piece of his chocolate as he waited outside for his turn. I remember it being sweet but not much else. This though, this combination is something else entirely. The white foam cylinder is apparently a marshmallow. It tastes a little flowery; sweet and has an odd texture in the middle that I'm unsure how to describe, the chocolate is amazing though. It's thick, warm and silky on my tongue, sweet and just a hint of bitterness. It has this rich overtone to it that makes me think of coffee. This, this is something I could get used to, this is something I could grow to enjoy. I take another. The others don't seem interested in the marshmallows so I focus on them before I grow curious and decide to try what else goes well with chocolate, it turns out a lot: Bread, biscuits, different fruits that I haven't learned the names of yet. I stop when I start to feel a little icky, I suppose it's the sweetness rather than the amount of food I've eaten.

_**The 53**__**rd**__** Hunger Games. Train To The Capitol From District 12**_

Another year, another lot of games. I take another drink, the third or is it fourth swig from this bottle. I don't know any more, these two tributes will be about as useful as the one's before them. I'm no good to them, I was no good to my family and I was no good in the arena. Why would I want to put them at risk by even trying to give them advice? Not that they'd notice at the moment anyway. They're too busy stuffing their faces and who the hell can blame them? The escort, Dixie I think she's called, she's new and is turning her prim and proper Capitol nose up at them. I feel hatred swell inside me and I stop the burning venom, the spiel I'd cry at her with a different kind of burning; the kind that has come to soothe everything about this god awful world. Another drink of the alcohol in my hand. There's nothing good about the games but even I can't deny that the liquor on this train is out of this world and now I have a new mission.

I want to piss off little miss prissy pants as much as possible just for daring to judge those kids. Those poor kids forced into a bloodbath by her people. Those kids who are stuffing their faces; licking plates clean and using their fingers to find new foods and tastes. I want to piss her off for judging them because they aren't using a knife and fork and look a little wild at this stupidly clean table. So I'll drink, I'll drink to the point I vomit and hopefully it will be on her sparkly fucking Capitol shoes. I take another swig and let the burn run down my throat, let it ignite a warm, slow burning fire in my stomach and quell the one in my brain that wants to tear the stupid blue hair off her head.

These people, these mentors always piss me off and she's new, walking into the District and making clucking and tutting noises at the people in the square, the miners still dirty. Passing comments about how they could have made more of an effort for the event. These people who walk around like they own us, like they're better than us. They do own us but they're not better, they will never be better.

It's been two and a half years, two and a half years since that bastard Snow took everything I love from me. G- I can't even think their names, I don't want to. _Blot it out Haymitch. _That's what I tell myself everyday and that's where the drink helps. I focus my attention on the tributes for a minute, maybe this year won't be as bad as last year or the year before. Maybe they'll actually listen to me this year. Maybe I could be of use, I'm not a total lost cause. Maybe if I gave myself a chance I could be a good mentor. I doubt it, highly doubt it but it's perhaps worth a go.

The 51st Hunger Games it was my fault they weren't prepared because I was lost in grief, the 52nd they didn't trust me because of the previous year. Now I'm hoping they'll listen to me because maybe, just maybe I can help make a victor out of one of these two. Daisy, that's the girl, she's fifteen but she looks strong. She's from the town and has clearly been brought up in the butchers. Lived on life stock because her flesh is filled out and there's muscle in her arms from where she's clearly been hauling the carcasses around. The boy is called Fern he's far too skinny, starved and I think I've seen him around the hob. He's seventeen. Another thing that stops these tributes listening to me is age. I feel if I was older, looked older; even though I've aged ten years in the past three. They'd take me a lot more seriously. I do want to help them but I'm not sure what or how I can. As I'm about to ask a question the overwhelming sense of failure seeps into my brain and instead I take another drink to try and numb it. I'm going to fail them like I did Maysilee. _Another drink. _I'm going to fail them like I did my family. _Another drink. _I'm going to fail them like I did Ga-. _That time I finish the bottle and my head fuzzes over completely._

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_**If you enjoyed please review! **_


	2. Chapter 2

_**Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games or the characters which are featured in the books. I have simply chosen to play in this world for a little while and all credit must go to Susanne Collins for creating such a marvellous world for one to play in. Any original characters I have created are of my own design however and I will take full credit for those and for any headcanons that arise from this.**_

_**A/N: This fic begins, really begins in the 53rd Hunger Games and my character Apollonia is going to be the Victor for said Games. The fic will contain a few pairings with the OC, most prominently HaymitchxNia. The fic is a cross between movie and book verse. I've just started reading Mockingjay but have made my way around the Wiki's so I do know what happens. **_

_**I actually find writing in first person quite difficult so I'm experimenting a little here and I may have to switch it up at a later date if I don't feel it's working but for now I quite like it.**_

_**I do hope you enjoy and if you enjoy please review! **_

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_**53**__**rd**__** Hunger Games. Train to the Capitol From District 5**_

When I wake up the next morning I forget where I am for a moment and simply slip out of the door without getting dressed. The robe pulled tight around my shoulders. I'm expecting to come to a table full of people I recognise but that's not going to be the case. Sleep came easy last night because the noises of the train were actually quite soothing. Usually, back home, I sleep in the very top of the house, the loft on a little old mattress. It's where the kids usually sleep too. However it's often also used as an extra place for the girls to service one man or another. Oh I may not have indulged in pleasures of the flesh but I've seen more than my fair share. It all seems a lot of effort, panting, writhing, and the girls don't seem to really enjoy it. That's been my view almost every time I've seen it apart from one.

I realise about ten seconds after the Capitol helpers start staring at me that I'm not dressed how they'd like.

''Ah leave off.'' Our mentor says waving them off with a hand. ''Let her enjoy what freedom she has left.'' She adds. There she goes again instilling me with confidence about my upcoming death. I knew she'd already given up on me but does she really have to be so blatant about it? I shrug, I don't care and I look over the breakfast cart and go straight for the chocolate again this time smothering it over something called a pancake. It tastes awfully good but I realise today I should probably have something more substantial. Something more than just sickly sweet chocolate. I look over the table again and see sausages, bacon, eggs, waffles, there's weird things made from potato. Soups and breads of varying shapes and sizes. I decide what I really want is some eggs and some sausages and some of the bread that's in a roll but clearly fresh as it's practically still steaming. I devour them and the escort is staring at me again. Watching me like a hawk as I eat. It annoys me why does she have to keep doing that. _Because she's from the Capitol._

''We need to discuss your talents.'' Terra, that's our mentor, says. She looks at me in particular like she's still trying to figure me out.

''I don't have any.'' I reply after finishing a bit of bread dipped in the egg, that's good. Really good, it reminds me of home because at home we get egg and bread occasionally. Baeda keeps chickens in a pen out the back and they produce eggs so when there are enough to feed us all in the house we have a small feast of eggy bread or egg on toast. It's wonderful flavoured with just a little salt and pepper. There would always be at least Ten of us around the table; there's five girls who work, Baeda, me and then any kids that have appeared.

''You must have something otherwise Baeda wouldn't keep you at that house.'' Ray says through a mouthful of food. It's so crass and I just stare at him for a moment as he smirks.

''Not with that scar.'' The words fall from The Capitol woman's mouth before I can reply and this makes me angry, makes me feel like I want to hit out but I don't. I can't find the words. Instead I ignore her.

''I don't have any talents.'' I repeat again. It's not true I can sing, that's not going to help me in the arena though.

''I do.'' Ray says stretching out his hands then cracking his knuckles. Ray looks over at Terra and then talks matter of factly. ''I can climb pretty well, I can fight too, wrestling champion with some of the boys and I've been in enough fights to know how to handle myself. Pretty good with pain too.'' He pulls back his top to reveal a scar across his chest, it's a burn, different from mine in that the tissue looks more inflamed and painful.

''That'll serve you well.'' Terra says. ''You need to be able to handle yourself out there. Weapons are your friend but get trained with something lightweight, easy to throw and carry. Don't go hunting for bows and big swords or anything.'' She says it as a warning, I start to zone out again thinking about what might await us in training and what I'll go for, what I'll try to get trained on first. I think about skills I'll need in the arena. I've no intention of winning the Games because I know I won't. However I'd rather survive a little while then be tortured for The Capitol's fun. Then it hits me, surviving is probably what I should try for; that means learning to hunt and what plants I can and can't eat. Ask them how to find fresh water.

Whilst I'm thinking Terra and Ray have engaged in a deep conversation about tactics and the overwhelming feeling that she's given up on me already strikes again. With a sigh and a roll of my eyes I decide to go back to my room until it's time for dinner or to leave the train.

_**The 53**__**rd**__** Hunger Games. Train To The Capitol From District 12**_

''What can he really tell us anyway?'' One of the tributes scoffs, it's the girl. I can already tell she's got this air about her that thinks she knows better. She doesn't though, she doesn't know a damn thing about what's waiting for her out there. Oh she might have watched every other Hunger Games but she's never been in that situation. She has food on tap I doubt she's ever starved in her life. I know she's talking about me but my tolerance for alcohol is still pretty low and half a bottle still has my brain fuzzing over. It's a delicious feeling, like a blanket of fog settling over the mind, erasing memories and blotting out feelings.

''Yeah because what possible use could someone who's already been in the arena be?'' I say it matter of factly as I lean forward to reach for another drink. Dixie flinches like she wants to move it but she doesn't. I didn't vomit on her shoes last night, at least I don't think I did but I still wish I had. Maybe today. Her very presence makes my skin crawl with rage and makes the need to drink at the forefront of my mind. If I could get the kids on their own maybe I could help them stand half a chance. Daisy seems a lot older than fifteen in the way she carries herself. I say it'll do well for her, adds to her character. She's strong too, the muscles in her arms will help her win sponsors because they'll see her as not just ''some girl''. It actually gives her a character, a defining something that will make people remember her.

''You should work at an angle like Terra did. The district 5 victor.'' I reply.

''She was one of my favourites.'' Daisy replies matter of factly. ''Killed 12 people on her own.'' She adds and wrings her hands like she can't wait for the blood bath to begin.

''Yeah but I think maybe you should get some training in first sweetheart.'' I reply and she doesn't take kindly to that and her next words come out as a snarl.

''I've been wielding a variety of butchers knives since I was eight years old. I know how to slit a throat, and disembowel someone.'' Her eyes flicker to my abdomen, I know it's because three years ago she watched me holding my intestines in for those final minutes in the arena. I can feel the anger rolling off her. It fills the air. I know that we're going to clash, that she's going to be a handful and she isn't going to listen to me. ''You might have won the games Haymitch Abernathy, but you're still just a child like the rest of us. So forgive me if I don't put the highest of faith in a mentor who's drunk and probably won't be able to help us in the arena when he can't even help himself back home.'' She snarls the words and Fern the boy just looks on like she's right. She is right I've been useless the past two years.

''You don't want my help?'' I say taking another drink which is a terrible move because that's not going to instil any more faith for them in me. It helps though, with the guilt welling inside me, there's so much guilt and it's always so suffocating, crushing, like being trapped underneath a landslide.

''No.'' Daisy spits and Dixie takes a sharp breath as though she's terribly shocked by the events going on. ''I'd be better on my own. We both would.'' She shoots Fern a look and he just shrugs his shoulders like he doesn't really care.

''I'm going to go in and hopefully I'll die on the first day, in the bloodbath.''

''That's your strategy kid?'' I ask, my voice almost comes out a laugh but his face is deadpan.

''I don't wanna fight, I don't want to suffer, if I could kill myself right now I would. The Capitol would probably revive me though.'' He swallows and won't meet my eyes and I know he's deadly serious. Dixie is tutting about how she's never heard anything like it and how if he wasn't about to go into the games she'd have every right to report him for talking of such things. That hatred for her and everything she represents rises up in my stomach again and I have to take another drink before I do something drastic.

''So when the fighting starts I'll run straight into the bloodbath at the cornucopia and hope that death meets me quickly. It usually does on the first day anyway. If not I'll let something else get me, walk right up to a career and punch them in the face if that's what it takes. The games don't end with a victor. There are no district victors. The only way we win these games is with death.'' Fern finishes and I realise I'm staring at him. The kid has brains, brains like I had, if he put his mind to it he might actually be able to win this thing. Hell now I actually want to help these kids and they don't want it.

''So no, I don't want your help either.'' He finishes.

''Don't worry, we'll tell people if they ask you did your best.'' Daisy says it and it penetrates the fog and stings a little. I'm entirely selfish and it's a weight of my shoulders. I just nod. I'll do my best to help them where I can but if they don't want it I don't know what more I can do. Fern is right though, the game doesn't stop until death takes a hold of you. I'm an example to the other victors for Snow to use but more than this. For kids of our district, for the most part. I'm an example that the game never stops and that we're never free. No matter how big the house or the amount of food that's supplied. I watch him for a moment trying to suss him out but it's clear in his eyes that he's deadly serious about his mission. Then I look at Daisy, for her I'm a symbol of something else. I can sense I make her want to rebel and do better, be better than me. Like the other tributes the camera's visit who are basking in wealth and good fortune. It all comes at a price though, a price not even she can understand.

''Well, that's all very well and good but you can't just sack your mentor it doesn't work like that.'' Dixie suddenly raises her voice amidst the muttering.

''I'm pretty sure they can do what they damn well please seeing as they're being sent into the slaughter darling.'' I say it without flinching. Dixie twitches but shuts her mouth and just stares down at the tea in front of her. Silence falls across the table and I know the agreement has been made. If I'd felt I could be of any use before now I feel like I'm nothing, less than nothing.

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_**If you enjoyed please review! **_


	3. Chapter 3

_**Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games or the characters which are featured in the books. I have simply chosen to play in this world for a little while and all credit must go to Susanne Collins for creating such a marvellous world for one to play in. Any original characters I have created are of my own design however and I will take full credit for those and for any headcanons that arise from this.**_

_**A/N: **__**I actually find writing in first person quite difficult so I'm experimenting a little here and I may have to switch it up at a later date if I don't feel it's working but for now I quite like it.**_

_**I do hope you enjoy and if you enjoy please review!**_

_**I'm still experimenting with the style so please let me know if it's unclear who's speaking and whether I'd benefit from small ''_POV'' things to indicate stuff. **_

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_I scratch at the place in my arm where they installed a tracker last year, I say it's a tracker it's not it's something similar. It irritates me that The Capitol and Snow are still under my skin, literally. After my less than demur Victors Tour and being given the advice that led me to drink. Snow fitted it. A constant reminder that my life is not my own. That I must still, even now, play his game. That I am not smarter not better than him or the Capitol; even though I am. It's there to ensure I don't kill myself. When I get to the point of being too sick, when it looks like I might pass over they'll send in a team to rescue me._

_It's a symbol, a sign. I cannot escape my grief, my guilt, my desperation. I can only wallow in it forever. I'm not allowed to free myself from the shackles of victorhood, of my success. The bright boy who walked into the arena has gone. I'm a symbol to other victors that this is what happens when you break a rule. I'm a symbol to any rebels left that even my death is not mine. It will be determined by The Capitol, by Snow. To have the knowledge that not even your death is in your control any more is stifling, it's suffocating. It hurts and it's having exactly the effect Snow wants it to in that it's driving me further into drink. My heads all fuzzy right now. I've been drinking far too much again after another rejection from the kids at dinner. I went to bed with the idea of sleeping, with a new purpose in mind for the morning but it's no use. I don't sleep at night, two years worth of broken sleep have left me without a decent pattern, I only ever get less than a few hours._

_Sometimes it catches me off guard, the image in the mirror verses the way I think. I'm 19, 19 years old. Life as a victor should have been better than this surely? The other victors still look young, seem to have embraced the world they've been thrust into but me, well... I look world weary. Something in my eyes says I'm older than I look and if I'm drunk enough I end up punching a hole in the mirror that's giving me the image. That's what happened earlier, there's blood dripping down my knuckles and through my hands, a vague stinging sensation that helps me focus on something that isn't the past. The room, the apartment is far too claustrophobic for my liking. I just want to be somewhere. Outside in the air, I say open air there's still a forcefield around the damn building. The garden's kind of soothing though in it's own weird Capitol way. I make my through it until I can sit against one of the trees. No one else is going to come up here, not at this god awful hour anyway._

_I'm wrong though, someone else does come out here. It's about an hour after I've slumped against the tree that I start to hear a voice, soft and motherly. It's nothing powerful like the one's the Capitol sometimes presents at parties. Still it draws me in and at first I have to wonder if it's a trap of some kind or some sort of Capitol device Snow has come up with. It turns out it's not, it's a girl, the tribute from, is it 5? 6? No five she was the one in the blue stood next to the brute from 5 on the chariot ride in. Something about her voice, maybe it's the injection of feeling or the truth in her words or the softness to her tone just has me held captive and I know the kids have some competition now because that she can use, that thing right there that's drawn me in so quickly will have the Capitol fawning over her. It vaguely reminds me of home, of that Everdeen boy. Apparently he can stop the birds in the tree's with his voice._

_I feel like I've seen a bird who's song I enjoy, I don't want it to stop. I feel if I get too close it will shut up and fly away and the sound is almost intoxicating the way her voice lingers over certain words and notes. Pulling me in then pushing me away. It's almost like a transference of feelings across the air around us. A feeling blossoms in my chest and for the first time in a while it's not horrible, far from it. It isn't guilt or depression, sadness or grief it's a longing but a different kind of longing, a type that hungers for a distant world. I realise that the girl before me can do with music, with a song what I've only really witnessed done with words and paint before. This longing is the same sort of longing that comes when reading a book or seeing a work of art so beautiful you want to clamber into the canvas itself, makes you want to immerse yourself in it entirely and wrap yourself up in it. She stops and suddenly there's a feeling of loss that isn't so unpleasant, soft instead of sharp and painful and it fades like the last droplets of water draining from a bottle._

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When we got to the Capitol I was poked and prodded for so long, the stylists complimented my hair which was nice, apparently it's a colour called Auburn out here. I like that name, like the way it rolls around in my head and off my tongue. After the delightful ordeal of being waxed, shaved, stripped, prodded, poked, scrubbed and a manner of other things I was ready for the chariot ride. I was so scared I thought my heart was going to leap out of my throat, that I was going vomit all over the side of the chariot. A first for the tributes parade. They had me dressed in some glittery, gemmed blue dress that was supposed to represent the electrical power we as a district produce. The gems and dress moved from darker blue up to electric and then the white that was the wig they put on me. I looked ridiculous when compared with Ray. Ray was dressed in next to nothing, a criss cross of electric blue leather straps across his darkened skin was a stark contrast and it did everything to accentuate the muscle mass on him. It was surprising to me that less clothes actually made him seem bigger and where my outfit seemed pre-determined before the tributes were even picked apparently Ray's has been tailored just for him. It's impressive, he left everyone in his wake in terms of the power he showcases. The raw fearlessness that seemed to just seep out of his pores and into the atmosphere. No one was going to remember me, they'd remember him, maybe have a faint idea I was the one stood next to him.

I felt a pang of jealousy as the stylists, mentor and escort gathered around him, congratulating him. There's the overwhelming knowledge that I'm barely considered a contestant again. I followed them up to the lifts where I'm was told the numbers in there would take me up to the corresponding Districts apartment. I just nodded along and sort of ignored the comments of well done. Well done for what I wonder? Not falling out of the chariot probably. I wondered if they'd even notice if I slipped away somewhere else. I tried it and no one must have noticed because I was left alone.

Now here I am, in my room, no one calling after me. I pull off the stupid outfit, shower away everything the Capitol has put on me. I turn the water up so it's scalding hot and let it wash over the ache that's settled in my shoulders from remaining tense. Then I turn it cold, at home we only have a shower in the summer, it's something one of the boys from our district came up with. It's a bucket held above our heads on a nail attached to a beam. There's fine stones in the bucket that help the water stay relatively cool and drain slowly. It's got nothing on the power coming out of the Capitol thing but it's still wonderfully refreshing in the summer.

The cold water always makes me open my eyes and my mind a little wider. The blast from The Capitol showers does it harder and faster than the one at home. A realisation hits me that if I do want to at least try to survive. If I'm going to listen to that beating in my chest that wants to rebel against the idea that I'm useless and going to die straight away then I need some idea of what I'm facing. I'm going to go in there and demand some training. Terra can't refuse me she's my mentor and although I know the District would want her focusing Ray, she still surely can't refuse me.

That doesn't happen how I envision it though. Instead of storming through cleaned up and looking ready for battle I end up falling asleep on the bed, the bed that's as comfortable as those one's on the train, if not more. It's the early hours when I wake up, I don't know what time exactly and I don't bother to check I just know that the Avoxes are stood around as though awaiting orders but everywhere else is deserted. I just leave, open the door and decide I want onto the roof. I want out of this claustrophobic room and this prison. I want out in the open, I want freedom.

When I get out onto the roof I wander around for a while and I see that there's something like glass covering the dome. I tilt my head trying to get a better look but it evades me. I pick up a nearby rock and throw it into the glass, it disappears for a moment and then comes back out. Not glass then. I feel frustration bubble inside me and I wonder just what it is that's frustrating me so much, that's making me feel like I can't breathe. I know I'm trapped. I've accepted that. It's not that what's irritating me. It takes me a minute of looking around the roof before I realise. The noise from below, a rhythm I hear is what alerts me first, what makes me realise what it is that's stifling me: I haven't sung in days. Not even the morning of the reaping, the mood was too sombre and since then I haven't, well it's not that I haven't thought about it. It's that I just haven't had chance.

Once I've realised the sensation bubbles inside me and it's something I feel I need to do. I listen to the music below for a moment but it's not what I need, it's not something I want. I need to sing something I can feel in my bones. It has to come from the heart to make me feel safe, to make me feel less suffocated. I block out the world below and start of by half speaking half singing until my confidence grows and so does the song in my chest. It's like a bird spreading it's wings and taking flight in my rib cage. There's so much freedom that blossoms inside me at the feel of a song. It comes I think from my mother, a lot of people say the stars and the sky provide protection and the ultimate freedom but I'll never forget my mother saying that the stars do nothing for you, they can't help you in a time of crisis. I would have only been two at the time but she was very straight laced. That sticks in my mind more than anything else. Everything else that was there, memories of my father and mother have been buried so deeply they're never going to surface. Not that they need too. At the thought the feeling grows bigger, my voice larger, more feeling, not an octave too high or too low.

When I stop singing I feel something equal to relief flood my system. It's like at home after some of the darker days at Baeda's when a song would ease not only my own unease but everyone else's. I'm smiling to myself when I hear the movement. My head whips around and I'm searching for the sound, wondering where it came from. I find it, a boy older than me is watching me. I watch him for a moment before I realise who he is.

''I'm sorry, I should- I thought I'd be alone out here.'' I say wrinkling my nose a little. As I step into the light though I can see that his hands are bloodied, his knuckles look like he's been fighting but that's against the rules. ''Oh my.'' The words leave my mouth before I can stop them.

''You better get used to the sight of blood sweetheart.'' His voice seems a little rough but something else is there too. He just sounds numb and I find that terrible.

''It's not the blood, blood doesn't really bother me I'm a woman.'' I say rolling my eyes, living at Baeda's might have made me a little too open about being a woman but it barely seems to bother anyone back home, not that it comes up too often.

''I can see that, a singer too by the sounds of it.'' He replies. ''You should use that. It'll get you sponsors.'' He adds as I kneel down in front of him and take hold of his hand. He seems to be trying to figure me out for a moment. I think he knows I know he's not another tribute. There's an overwhelming smell of alcohol as I move closer and it causes me to wrinkle my nose.

''You should get used to that too.'' He tips a bottle towards me that I ignore. ''You win, you'll need it.'' He adds. My brow furrows, words of comfort from a drunk, I try not to take too much stock in them. He doesn't mean it, well no he probably means it about the alcohol but he doesn't mean he thinks I'll win.

''I don't have a chance.'' I say looking over the wound, clearly he's broken something sharp, probably glass. I pull a shard from his hand and see him wince.

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_I look at her for a moment, taking in her features. She's quite pretty, when she actually comes into focus. I wonder what the stylists were thinking hiding her hair under a wig because it looks nice as it is. The same colour the leaves turn in the autumn when they fall off the tree's. Before I know it my fingers have found their way too fumbling with the ends a little. Letting the softness move between my fingers. I'm fascinated by it_

_''Hey, that's a bit creepy.'' She admits moving her head out of the way. The pain in my hand barely registers as she pulls bits of glass from it._

_''I'm Haymitch.'' I say as though she doesn't already know._

_''I know.'' She replies but there's no words of congratulations, no gushing about my games and that's refreshing. Yet at the same time it's a little jarring because I'm so used to the treatment that comes with it._

_''District 6 tribute right?'' I say as she rips some fabric from her shirt and wraps it around my hand._

_''5 actually.'' She replies. ''And my name, if you're interested is Apollonia.'' I recognise her, I recognise this girl from somewhere but I'm not sure where._

_''Wait, I think I've seen you before.'' I say it, the words slightly blurred and I wish I hadn't had so much booze so I could think a little clearer, actually that's not true. I don't want to be able to think clearer. ''The whore house in five!'' I say it and she furrows her brow for a moment before relaxing. She presses against the wound and I hiss._

_''I'm not, that's not why I'm there.''_

_''No you were singing. You should use that in your strategy by the way.'' Did I already tell her that? I'm not quite sure._

_''I know. I don't really have one.'' She says offhandedly. I wonder if she's already given up, something in her eyes says no. That there might be some small ray of hope she's clinging onto though. ''Now you think you have some idea about my strategy, I'm sure you can tell your tributes whatever.'' Apollonia says shaking her head. Her name sounds to long in my head and I know drunk I'd struggle to say it. It needs shortening._

_''If they'd listen to me I would.'' I reply offhandedly._

_''Lay off this and they might.'' Pollo, can I call her that? Lo? Nia? Apple? Apollonia takes the bottle out of my hand. ''It won't be doing you any good either. You're smart, don't let them take it.'' She taps the side of my head and I look up at her for a moment. Does she mean the Capitol. I think she does and that causes a small smile to grace my lips. That hasn't happened in a while. Not something this genuine anyway._

_''What if they already have?'' I offer but she shakes her head._

_''They haven't, you're just a bit fuzzy.'' She replies. ''I'm gunna go now. I'm pretty sure there's like some rule against other mentors talking to tributes.'' Apollonia bites her lip for a moment. Her words actually bring me some comfort. I can't stop drinking though and what does she know? She doesn't know a damn thing, she just seems to think she does._

_''Yeah there probably is and I'm not fuzzy I just don't like the tributes much. You lot think you can conquer that arena but you're all too stupid. Well at least now my guys have an advantage.'' The venom just comes up like vomit in the morning. She doesn't know a damn thing about me but what she should know is that I'm like a poisonous plant. I may not look like much, even smell like much right now but I'm deadly. Get too close and somebody dies. Everyone has to stay at arms length._

_''Oh yeah because of the singing.'' She rolls her eyes and shakes her head waving me off with a hand as she leaves. ''Make sure you put something on that hand. It'll get infected otherwise and that won't be nice for anyone.'' She calls back to me another smile threatens to grace my lips but I refuse it. I don't need some jumped up tribute thinking she can talk to me that way. I'm a victor damn it. She reminds me of a songbird, oh the music may be nice but the minute she stops singing she's annoying as hell and I just want to shoot her. My aim would be off but at least she'd fly away and not be in the periphery annoying me._

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